


mutual

by charcoalsuns



Series: sportsfest 2018 [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 11:38:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15339063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoalsuns/pseuds/charcoalsuns
Summary: After a fight (one out of many).





	mutual

**Author's Note:**

> (BR 1) [for a prompt by plume_sombre](https://sportsfest.dreamwidth.org/7464.html?thread=194344#cmt194344):
> 
> TIME: 3 years ago  
> PLACE: in the kitchen

  


The front door slams right in front of Osamu's nose, glass rattling like a bunch of ice in a mug. For once, he didn't stick his hand out to catch it. For once, he doesn't even scoff at the sound of Atsumu getting scolded in the hallway. 

What an _idiot_. 

Osamu cleans the dirt off his shoes. _Don't you know, 'Tsumu, you get as good as you give?_

Too bad it's not much good he does give, so it's not much good he gets in return. 

_Everybody hates you._

It's times like now that Osamu cares to feel why.

"I'm home," he says into the hallway, even though it's probably unnecessary. After all, they come back from the same practice. At the other end of the house, the door to their bedroom slams, too. 

It's a strange calm that Osamu holds in his limbs, straightening up from the line of shoes in the entry. Like he can hear every breath in the house through the furious pounding in his ears. Like his hands aren't itching to grab into a pair of shoulders, like he isn't raring to shake someone until they just _shut up_ for once in their damn lives. 

The refrigerator hums in agreement as he pulls the door open, bottles knocking together on the shelves. There's still two packs of pudding. He takes both, and a spoon for himself, and sits down for a feast. 

Not two minutes later, his temper flares up when through the kitchen doors, he can hear a certain plod of footsteps coming down the hall. _Can't you **wait?**_ he shouts in his mind, but he refuses to leave the room first. He finishes one cup of pudding as a door slides open, digs his spoon into the next as Atsumu slouches in, stuffs his mouth full as the refrigerator is opened again. 

He can't even enjoy the taste of food in his mouth, and that, possibly, is the most offensive thing of all. 

"Can't even put the carton in the trash," Atsumu mutters, volume just asking for anyone, for everyone to have to hear him. Osamu hears him rip up the empty paperboard, hears the crush of plastic as the garbage bag is fed. He stabs into delicious pudding. 

The freezer door opens this time, and a chair pulls out at the other end of the table, muffled screeching against the tile floor. Atsumu rips into the wrapper of an ice cream bar with a face like he wants this chunk of frozen milk to hit his stupid tosses perfectly, too. 

Osamu doesn't have to look at him to know he's chomping directly through, brain freeze be damned. 

When he has ice cream, he does the same thing. 

Osamu doesn't find any patience at the bottom of his second pudding cup. He scrapes his spoon around the groove, sticks the last bit in his mouth until the faint leftover chocolate is overtaken by the tinge of metal. The only thing he finds is resignation, tired and petty as it is, that even when stuff doesn't taste as good as it should, he's got the stomach to eat it still. 

He doesn't leave the table first. Neither does Atsumu.

  



End file.
